Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

They waited until the second guard change after midnight. Louis sat on the edge of the bed with his trouser leg rolled above the knee and let Angelique bind the joint tight enough to hurt. Gladice stood by the window with the curtain edge lifted a fraction and watched outside.

“Too tight?” Angelique asked.

“Yes,” Louis said.

“Good.”

He looked down at her hands. Her fingers pulled the wrap tight, smoothed the overlapping edge, and pulled again. She pinched the bandage between both hands, tore it free, and pressed the loose end flat against the layer beneath. Then she lifted her eyes.

“Don’t run once you’re outside this room,” she said.

He laughed once. “If you think I can.”

She shook her head and began rolling up the unused bandage. “If you are caught, say nothing. Give them nothing. You are lost. You were confused. You were in pain. You forgot the time.”

He watched her wind it back into a compact roll. “I know.”

She finished and set the roll on the nightstand. Then she reached up and touched the side of his face, her palm warm against his cheek. He leaned into the touch, closed his eyes, then turned his head and kissed her palm. Her fingers curled slightly against his skin. He opened his eyes again. Her face was close to his. They stayed there until Gladice’s voice came from the window.

“Second change. Three minutes from the next pass.”

Angelique stood and stepped back. Louis pushed himself up from the bed and put weight on the leg carefully. He turned to Gladice. She had let the curtain fall back into place and was watching him. He limped the few steps across the room and stopped in front of her. He wanted to say something useful. Nothing came. So he bent and kissed her instead. She kissed him back hard. When he tried to pull away, she tightened her arms around his neck before letting him go.

“Idiot,” she whispered.

He nodded once and stepped back. Louis looked at both of them. Gladice stood still, her hands at her sides. Angelique was pale.

He said, “If I don’t make it back before dawn, you tell them you knew nothing.”

Gladice stared at him. “We are not telling them anything.”

“I’m going now,” he said.

He went to the chair and picked up his jacket. The fabric was dark enough to hide his outline. He put it on and emptied his pockets onto the table one object at a time until there was nothing left that might clink or catch. Then he crossed to the window. Gladice lifted the sash for him. Cool, damp air came in. Below was the narrow stone lip of the lower gallery roof. He swung one leg over first and took the weight on his hands. When he brought the bad leg after it, his knee scraped the window frame. Pain went through him at once. He locked his jaw and held still until he could breathe again. Gladice lowered the sash behind him and drew the curtain back into place.

Louis stayed where he was, one hand flat against the outside wall. The stone lip under his shoes was narrow, barely wide enough for both feet. He moved sideways with his shoulder against the wall, the good foot first and the bad one after it. The stone was damp under his soles. Once his bad knee brushed the wall, and he had to stop until the pain settled. Then he kept going, one step at a time, until the ledge widened at the corner and met the outer gallery. He took the last step carefully and put one hand around the nearest column.

The outer gallery ran along the southern face of the manor. Moonlight lay hard on the white floor and columns, leaving less cover than he wanted. Louis kept close to the wall and moved from pillar to pillar. Somewhere down near the carriage court, an engine idled low, then cut out. He froze and listened.

He kept one hand near the wall and the other slightly out from his body for balance. Then he crossed the first stretch of gallery, reached the angle where the house turned east, and paused behind a column to let a patrol pass below. Two soldiers walked along the gravel edge of the lower lawn, rifles slung low, and turned at the eastern corner without slowing. He counted to ten after they disappeared and then continued, angling toward the windows that looked over the east side garden.

The upper gallery narrowed there. He had almost reached the next column when a light swung up from below. The beam crossed the underside of the roof and struck the nearest white pillar. Louis flattened himself against the wall. The light dipped, then rose again, closer now. He could hear footsteps on gravel. He measured the distance to the end of the colonnade: too far to reach the shadow before being seen. The only window near enough was directly to his left, its shutters latched tight. He reached it in two quick steps, found the edge of the shutter by touch, and tugged hard with both hands. The old latch gave with a soft click. He pulled the shutter open, found the sash behind it unlatched, and pushed it up just enough to get through. His knee hit the frame again as he climbed inside. He landed heavily on a carpeted floor, caught the edge of a dressing table, and bent over it with his teeth locked until the sound stayed in his throat.

When he straightened, someone moved in the dark in front of him. Jennifer Hargrove stood beside the bed in a white nightdress and a dark wrapper pulled hastily around it, one hand pressed to her throat. Her hair was loose over one shoulder. They stared at each other.

Then she whispered, “Mr. Collins?”

He put one finger to his lips. Outside, the light swept once across the lower shutters and moved on. Jennifer gripped the bedpost. Her eyes moved from his knee to the open window behind him, then back to his face.

“What are you doing?” she breathed.

“Sorry, Jennifer.” He kept his voice as low as hers. “Wrong window.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. She glanced again at the window and back to him. Her hand stayed at her throat.

“You should not be here,” she said.

“No,” he agreed.

She stared at him. Then she said, very quietly, “then why are you?”

“Because they’re taking us in the morning.”

Jennifer stopped moving. Her hand lowered from her throat. She swallowed hard.

“Where?”

He shook his head once. “Oklahoma. Angelique and me. They’re leaving Gladice here.”

Jennifer looked away. Then she looked toward the door and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Help me,” he said. “I need to get to the library.”

She opened her eyes. “The library?”

“They have the transfer papers there. If I can mess them up, they won’t be able to move us in the morning.”

She stood there, breathing fast. Then she looked at the window, then the door, then him.

“Mr. Vance will find out.”

“I’m counting on that,” he said.

She shook her head, but she did not step away. “He will be angry.”

“Yes.”

“He will punish you.”

“He will try.”

Jennifer stopped. Her hand tightened on the wrapper. Then her voice sharpened. “You do not have a key.”

“No.”

She stared at the window. Then she said very quietly, “I took it.”

“You took what?” he said.

“The master key. From Mr. Wells.” Her voice trembled.

“You have it?”

She nodded once. “I took it this afternoon. I didn’t know what I was going to do with it.” She looked toward the dressing table, then back at him. “I only knew I couldn’t leave it where it was.”

“Where?”

“In the house office cabinet. They were checking everything after lunch. Mr. Wells put the ring there while they inventoried the older keys against the military list.” She swallowed. “He wasn’t meant to leave it. He did for a minute. I—” She stopped, took a breath, and started again. “I saw it and I took it.”

“Where is it?”

She hesitated. Then she went to the wardrobe, knelt, reached beneath the lowest drawer, and drew out a narrow prayer book. Inside lay the master key on a short brass ring. Louis looked at it, then at her.

“Jennifer,” he said. “You are brave.”

She kept looking at the key. Her fingers stayed tight around the book.

“I don’t feel brave,” she whispered.

“That’s how you know you are.”

She looked up at him. Then she closed the book, stood, and put it in his hand. The ring was light in his palm. He closed his fingers around it.

“I need one more thing,” he said.

She stared at him.

“The library. There’s an old safe in there, isn’t there?”

Her breath caught. Her eyes went to the key in his hand. Her mouth parted.

“How do you know that?”

“I saw it,” he said. “The day we arrived.”

Jennifer shut her eyes again. When she opened them, she looked at the key, then at him. She nodded once. Then she said quietly, “It has an old combination lock. Not a key.”

“That’s alright.”

She stared at him. Then she blinked and said, “Four numbers. Six. Two. Five. Nine. It was my grandmother’s birthday.” She gave a small shrug. “My father never changed it.”

Louis held very still.

“Does Vance know?”

“I don’t know.” She looked toward the door. “I don’t think so. But they may have opened it.”

“Then I will try my luck.”

“If they find out—” she began.

He said, “If they find out, it is on me. Not you. You didn’t see me.”

Jennifer looked at him for another second. Then she stepped nearer, lowering her voice to almost nothing. “The inner east door sticks on the lower hinge. Don’t use it. Go out the anteroom instead. Turn right. There’s a service stair behind the linen press. It comes out near the west passage.”

“Thank you, Jennifer.”

A footstep sounded in the corridor outside. Both of them went rigid. The step paused, then moved on.

Jennifer let out a breath through her nose. “Go.”

He looked at her. She was frightened, but her jaw had set.

He said, “I won’t forget this.”

She said, “Don’t get caught.”

He slipped the key ring into his pocket, moved to the window, and climbed out again. Jennifer lowered the sash behind him and worked the shutters back into place. He moved along the gallery faster now, one hand on the wall. The knee caught every few steps. He found the door Jennifer had described and slipped into the small anteroom. He crossed the room to the far wall and found the linen press by touch. It swung open on oiled hinges to reveal a steep, narrow stair. He took it slowly, one hand on the rail, counting landings in the dark. At the bottom he paused behind the linen press and listened. He heard nothing.

He opened the little door and stepped into the west passage. Light showed under several doors. In the front hall, two men spoke in low voices and then one of them laughed. The library lay two turns ahead. He moved along the wall and stopped at each corner before taking it. At the first turn he waited while a soldier crossed the far end of the corridor carrying a dispatch case under one arm. At the second turn he heard nothing and waited longer. Then he crossed anyway and reached the western hall. The library door was shut at the far end. He stopped and breathed once through his nose. He put his hand into his pocket and closed it around Jennifer’s key. He repeated the numbers in his head: six, two, five, nine. Then he listened at the door. No voices. He kept his eyes on the handle, touched it, and turned the key. The lock gave with a small click.

He opened the door and stepped inside. The room was lit. Then he saw General Vance sitting behind the desk.